


Prince and Pauper, Junior and Whopper

by roadsoftrial



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: M/M, Post-Dawn, aggressive hand-holding, brotherhood era, christmas-themed t-rated chu shenanigans, clarus you slightly bigger shit, clean your fridge kids, gladio you little shit, half-drunk making out, nyx ulric has impeccable musical tastes, pls bury your nudes better, protect the shield, puking, raunchy lyrics, shameful poptart purchases, soft boys in love, t-rated chu shenanigans
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-23
Updated: 2018-05-30
Packaged: 2019-05-10 08:54:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 4,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14733890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roadsoftrial/pseuds/roadsoftrial
Summary: A collection of ficlets that were originally posted on tumblr! Warning, lots of dumb!





	1. Give me back my phone!

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [Aliatori](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aliatori)!  
> pairing: Promnis

Reluctantly, is the the way Prompto lets Noctis use his phone to reply to Cor’s text for him. Very, very reluctantly. But it’s an important text, and he’s not about to try to send while driving, especially not when his passenger is the Crown Prince of Lucis himself.

‘You know this is the first time you let me go on your phone,’ Noctis says as he goes through Prompto’s apps. ‘Grindr, Prompto? Really?’

‘Eh,’ he simply shrugs with a laugh. ‘I’ve got  _needs,_ Noct.’

‘Yeah I’ll bet,’ Noctis says with a chuckle as he keeps going through Prompto’s phone.

Prompto doesn’t like this, not one bit. He can’t quite tell him to stop, though, because that would sound too suspicious for what he’s willing to confess right here and now.

‘I don’t let you on my phone because you’re too judgey, dude! Plus, I know you’re like a second away from posting shit on my Facebook and setting a picture of your dick as my background.’

‘You know what, great idea, thanks Prom,’ he says as he tugs at his waistband and snaps a few pictures.

‘Oh come on man.’

‘That should do it. Let’s take a look.’

‘You know I’ll probably be banished if these get leaked, right?’

‘I’m the  _Prince_ , Prom. I’ll get you a lawyer, don’t worry.’

‘My hero.’

‘Yup, I’m great.’ He falls quiet, all of a sudden ‘Hey Prom,’ he continues, slowly, very slowly, ‘what’s that folder in your pictures called ‘Totally not nudes from best boy?’

He nearly runs into the curb at that.

Oh gods.

Oh no.

Why this?

Why now?

Why did he name it that? Why did he make the folder at all??

( _Because you never let Noct use your phone, dumbass!)_

‘Prom… do you have a boyfriend?!’

‘…Surprise?’

‘Holy shit I have to see what he looks like!!’

‘NO!’

It’s a struggle, trying to keep his eyes on the road while fighting Noct, flailing his arms trying to knock the phone out of his hands, all the while Noctis stretches his arms as far back as he can, as he still, somehow, manages to open the folder and look through the pictures.

‘Holy…PROM IS THAT  _IGNIS_?!’

‘GIVE ME BACK MY PHONE!’


	2. Ginger and clove

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for [foolhearty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/foolhearty) for the small ffxv christmas exchange on tumblr!  
> Pairing: Promnis

Prompto waltzes into the kitchen in a bit of a haze, his hair a tangled mess, sweatpants softly hanging from his slender hips. The smell of ginger and clove is in the air, pulling a grin onto his face.

‘Mornin’, babe,’ he yawns as he heads straight to the coffee machine.

‘It’s hardly morning anymore,’ Ignis responds with a soft laugh.

‘Sorry, I was completely out. Your fault, really.’

‘I’m deeply sorry.’

‘No you’re not.’

‘No I’m not.’

Ignis goes for deadpan, but can’t help smiling at Prompto’s warm laughter as he pours himself a cup of coffee.

‘Pass me the cinnamon, Love?’ he asks, pointing vaguely to the spice shelf above the sink.

‘Hey Iggs, ever heard of the cinnamon challenge?’ Prompto asks as he grabs the small glass jar and playfully shoves under Ignis’ nose.

‘If you’re trying to lure me into trying it, you’ll be sorely disappointed.’

Prompto laughs.

‘Damn, I didn’t realize you were so internet-savvy.’

‘We all have our vices, I suppose.’

A giggle, as arms circle Ignis’ waist from behind, pulling him into a tight hug, face pressed between his shoulder blades.

‘My husband, the meme-master,’ says the muffled voice against his back.

Ignis is glad Prompto is too busy imprinting his face into the back of his shirt to notice the slight blush on his face. Husband. He’s his husband, now. He’ll probably get used to it, eventually, but after less than a year, the word still ignites a small fire in the pit of his stomach.

‘Lucky man,’ Ignis responds with a low chuckle. ‘Are you going to help me with these or not? They aren’t for me, you know.’

‘Mmmnope. I’m just going to stay here for a while.’

‘Perhaps you shouldn’t go around promising Christmas gifts you can’t even make, then,’ he says with a smile in his voice.

He feels Prompto’s snort against his back, holding him tighter.

‘I couldn’t exactly say no to the Marshal, Iggy.’

Ignis sighs, a smile on his lips, as he keeps mixing the batter.

‘I’m well aware. It was probably part of his plan.’

‘Oh definitely,’ comes Prompto’s voice, finally letting go of Ignis’ shirt.

He starts walking the table when Ignis catches his arm and twirls him back towards him. He turns around, elegant as always, as Prompto plops onto him.

They face each other for a few seconds.

‘Hello,’ Ignis finally says with a soft voice.

‘Hi,’ Prompto responds, a shy smile on his lips, taking in all of his husband’s beautiful face.

He finally pushes himself on his toes, reaching up to meet Ignis’ soft lips with his. Ignis pulls his head up with both hands, spreading flour all over Prompto’s warm cheeks.

‘Payment accepted,’ Ignis says when Prompto finally breaks the kiss.

‘Pleasure doing business with you, sir,’ Prompto says with a giggle, pressing a kiss onto his husband’s hand.

His husband. After all this time, his husband.


	3. Traditions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for [Seladorie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Selador)!  
> Pairing: Promptio

‘But why do you do that?’ Noctis asks, exasperated.

To which Prompto laughs, while Gladio looks at him in a way that’s somehow both annoyed and affectionate.

It had started months ago, innocuous as anything.

Prompto was walking Gladio home, despite his insistence that it should be the other way around. They had been dancing around each other a for a while, then, not quite sure whether those outings they kept having, just the two of them, were dates or not, not quite sure how to initiate that talk.

‘I can take care of myself, dude. Plus, your house is on the way to mine, and it’s the gentleman thing to do.’

Which, fair, fair and fair. Gladio had laughed at that, with that deep, gravelly voice of his, and Prompto had laughed back and blushed a little, but that was neither here nor there.

It happened a few blocks away from Gladio’s house, when they had been too caught up in a heated argument about baby chocobos to notice the red hand signal at the intersection.

He’s not quite sure how he got so distracted that he didn’t notice the red light, not quite sure how he didn’t see the bus headed towards them at full speed.

He remembers his name being yelled as he stepped onto the street, his hand being pulled so hard he nearly fell, something rushing past him, inches away from his nose.

They had stared at each other, silent, stunned, but not quite stunned enough that Gladio couldn’t feel Prompto’s hand still clutching his, with no intention of letting go.

‘What the fuck man?!’ Prompto had snapped after long seconds of shock, trying to reach the back of Gladio’s head to give it a slap, not quite able to succeed. ‘You almost died!!’

‘I did…’ Gladio had simply said, finally realizing what had just happened. ‘Um… sorry?’

‘Oh you’re gonna be,’ Prompto had replied, so serious, so angry as he proceeded to pull Gladio into the street, now that it actually was safe to do so.

Prompto had proceeded to hold onto his hand, lecturing him about duty and self-preservation all the way to Gladio’s house, while Gladio had tried his best not to burst out laughing the entire time.

Gladio had kissed him for the first time, that night, to shut him up, mostly, but also because, well, he had thoroughly enjoyed the hand holding, even if it had to come in an angry sermon package deal.

***

‘And that’s the story of our first kiss!’ Prompto says proudly.

‘That’s… not what I asked…’ Noctis responds.

Prompto stares at him for a hot second, blinks slowly as Gladio buries his face in his free hand and snorts.

‘Right. Right. I’m just protecting him from himself,’ Prompto says matter-of-factly, looking up at Gladio for support.

‘He’s right,’ Gladio adds dismissively.

‘I get that,’ Noctis says slowly, glaring at the two of them just a little bit, ‘but do you need to do it every time you cross the street? You guys are embarrassing…’

‘I’m doing this for your own sake, man,’ Prompto shrugs. ‘Someone’s gotta keep your shield alive!’

And to that, Noctis rolls his eyes and tries to put some distance between himself and his ridiculous friends, as Prompto grabs for Gladio’s hand firmly and crosses the street.  


	4. Pink disaster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the Gladnis week timed quest!  
> Pairing: Gladnis

Gladio wakes up on Monday morning to an empty bed. Ignis has taken the habit of spending his weekends at Gladio’s apartment and making the place unmistakably his in the process, only to completely disappear as the work week begins. Business as usual, really. Ignis is a busy man, after all, far busier than Gladio will ever be, and he considers himself lucky enough that Ignis has agreed to allow him into his schedule at all, so he doesn’t complain, and Ignis makes it up to him on his free time.

Ignis is busy, sure, but not busy enough, it turns out, to forgo making breakfast for his boyfriend before work.

Gladio shakes his head with a chuckle as he grabs the pink smoothie Ignis as left in the fridge for him.

A new recipe he’s trying out, his note says, with a nutritious new blend of fruit, greens, milk and greek yogurt he’s been experimenting with this past week. Gladio pulls the large glass out of the fridge, removes the film covering it and give in a quick stir before swallowing half the thick drink in one gulp, ever so eager to be Ignis’ guinea pig.

It…

Um…

It’s…

It’s the most disgusting thing Gladio has ever tasted in his life.

It’s bad. It’s really bad. He manages to swallow the mouthful regardless, staring at the glass in disbelief.

What happened?

Has Ignis gone mad? Did he hit his head somewhere? Gladio concludes Ignis has either not tasted it, or is playing a prank on him, and he can’t decide which of the two is the most unlikely.

He’s not quite sure how to proceed. Ignis can take criticism, of course, but Gladio can’t find a way to be constructive about this. This smoothie he’s been working on for so long, that he’s put so much time and effort and _love_ into, objectively, genuinely tastes like hot garbage.

He doesn’t have much time to dwell on it as he hears a menacing rumble coming from his stomach. He barely has time to reach the bathroom before he vomits all of the pink concoction down the toilet.

He retches a few more times before his phone rings, Ignis’ name on the call display. Gladio puts him on speaker, not trusting his shaky hands not to drop the phone down the toilet.

‘Gladio!’ goes Ignis’ panicked voice. ‘Don’t drink the smoothie!’

‘Little late for that,’ he replies, in a hoarse voice.

‘Oh gods, Gladio, I’m so sorry. The milk in your fridge was way past its expiration date, I completely forgot about it when I used it!’

Gladio doesn’t know what to say. He feels he should be mad, probably, but can’t even bring himself to. This is his fault, really. Serves him right for never cleaning his fridge. And so he laughs instead, which confuses Ignis more than anything else.

He hangs up after assuring Ignis over and over again that he’s fine, that he’ll take the day off and drink ginger ale or something. Ignis isn’t convinced, but finally lets go after apologizing for the nth time.

As awful as Gladio’s stomach feels right now, they’ll laugh about it soon enough, he thinks as he tucks himself bad into bed. It’s a tale for the ages, really, ‘Prince Noctis’ Shield viciously poisoned by trusted Royal Advisor, full story at 8.’


	5. What do I get?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for [Aliatori](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aliatori)!  
> Pairing: Cor/his own foolishness

‘So what do I get?’ Gladio asks, staring up with all the boldness a 13-year-old facing Cor-the Immortal-Leonis can muster.

‘Huh?’

‘If I beat your record. What do I get?’

Cor snorts, stares at him as he tries to establish just how serious he is.

Extremely so, it turns out. Cor tries not to laugh at the almost comedic look of determination on his face, chooses to stare at the field in front of them instead.

‘You won’t,’ he snorts ‘believe me.’

Gladio clearly isn’t content with that response.

‘My dad said you should give me something if I do.’

 _Your dad’s an idiot_ , he almost says before settling for a deep sigh instead.

‘Listen, kid. I don’t care what Clarus told you, no one’s beaten that record in 22 years. I highly doubt you can do it.’

‘But what if I do?’

Cor shuts his eyes for long seconds, then glares at him, unblinking, for even longer ones. It’s usually enough to shut most pests up, but Gladio is of the particularly persistent kind, it seems.

‘I don’t know. What do you want?’

‘You to come to our house for Iris’ birthday?’

He blinks. Once, twice.

Fucking Clarus.

There’s no way this isn’t a trap, he _knows_ it. But he also knows no one has been able to beat his time in the Crownsguard entrance exam obstacle race, not since he first set the record when he was 13 himself.

‘Is that what _you_ want?’

‘…Yeah?’

He needs to have _words_ with Clarus, about many, many things, the first of which being teaching his damn kid to lie convincingly.

‘Alright, kid,’ he shrugs, and by the look on Gladio’s face, he feels maybe he shouldn’t have. ‘Show my what you got.’

And Gladio does.

And so Cor-the-Immortal-Leonis ends up, a week later, in front of the Amicitia estate, pink paper cup and jugs of fruit punch in tow. He sighs like he hopes his soul will leave his body, and knocks at the door.

Fucking Clarus.


	6. Watching You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for [Notavodkashot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/notavodkashot)!  
> Pairing: Cornyx

There is something fun, Nyx thinks, about guard duty during a royal ball.

It’s boring, and nothing significant ever happens, sure, some gossip fuel here and there, but nothing quite shocking enough to get him truly invested.

But there’s _something_ about watching these people, opulent, decadent, wearing their most obnoxious outfits while stuffing their faces and drinking themselves stupid.

(It’s a different Something that makes those events fun for him, though. Something that has all of his attention, despite the fact that he should, technically, be watching over the entire room.)

The Something he can’t keep his eyes off is walking through the ballroom (pacing, really), a tumbler filled with a respectable serving of very expensive scotch (no ice) in his hand, outfit as subdued as everyone else’s is gaudy, as sober as he, himself, is (definitely) not.

Nyx knows the Marshall tall and proud, so this wallflower demeanor of his is a show in and of itself. His desire, his _need_ to not be noticed makes him all the more noticeable, in Nyx’s eyes (but then again, maybe his eyes keep looking for him on purpose).

Nyx wishes he could leave his assigned spot by the oversized balcony doors, wishes he could find Cor, walk with him, cackle gleefully as Cor rips everyone present to shreds. These events put him in a _mood_ , Nyx has noticed, and his remarks are always sharper, more acidic than usual, much to Nyx’s delight.

He loses track of him for just as second, and barely has the time to be disappointed before the Marshal appears right in front of him. Because of course he would.

Nyx is not startled. He doesn’t jump just a little bit, no sir.

‘Hello, Ulric.’

‘Marshal,’ Nyx nods, trying to stifle the grin that tries its hardest to spread across his lips, ‘is there anything I can assist you with this evening?’

‘It… has been ordered that you escort me to that hallway over there. For… reasons that need remain confidential. Or something.’

He’s _definitely_ not sober, though no one could possibly tell by looks alone, which is always a trip. Nyx snorts as he still tries to keep the straightest face he can manage (which is can be hard when it comes to Cor) (in more ways than just one)(winky wink).

‘Has it, now?’ he asks, cocking an eyebrow at Cor’s impassive expression. ‘Well, guess an order’s an order. After you, Marshal.’

Cor nods, turns to wave towards one of the glaives roaming the room so he can take Nyx’s spot before leaving, Nyx in tow trying his damnedest to follow his pace.

They exit the room quickly and unseen from everyone else, and take a few steps into the hallway before Cor explains the gist of their top-secret surprise mission.

Which consists, it turns out, of pinning Nyx to the wall, holding him into place with his entire body, towering him with all of his height, their face so close Nyx can almost taste him. He gleams in delight as Cor looms over him, eyes wild and hungry, and Nyx’s imagination goes wild thinking of all the (wonderful, horrible) things Cor could do to him, right then and there.

Cor puts an abrupt end to the anticipation when he comes crashing down on him, hungry lips against Nyx’s that he’s more than happy to kiss back, slow and languid and just the right kind of sloppy. Needy hands soon find their way into his hair, tugging at it _just so_ , and Nyx is in heaven.

They do come up for air, eventually.

‘What was that for?’ Nyx asks, flush, breathless and frankly a bit unhappy at the loss of contact once Cor pulls away. Cor still grabs his hands, just because they’re alone, just because he can.

‘Just felt like kissing you, is all. Been looking at you all night.

‘No you haven’t! _I_ have been staring at _you_ all night.’

‘Then I’m just better at it than you are,’ he snarks, somehow, a self-satisfied smile on his lips. ‘Shall we go?’ he asks, entirely too normal and gentlemanlike.

That’s when Nyx realises it.

He might just be in love with the idiot in front of him.

And that might just make him an even bigger idiot.


	7. Masterplan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for [Breotch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Breotch08)!  
> Pairing: Promnis

Prompto forgets, sometimes, that Ignis is only two years older than he is. He forgets, sometimes, that he hasn’t been an adult much longer than he has, though he finds it hard to believe at times.

He forgets, sometimes, because that’s how Ignis wants it to be. Because he tries very hard to seem ageless, for everything he does to appear easy, effortless, like he’s been doing it for a million years. And because he succeeds, for the most part.

But there are flaws to his masterplan.

He hadn’t accounted for Prompto Argentum.

He hadn’t been able to build around Prompto, hadn’t been able to keep him out with his sky-high fences. He hadn’t been able to stop Prompto from slipping through the cracks.

The thing is, the real Ignis isn’t that different, from the version of himself he lets the world see. But sometimes, just sometimes, he does betray his youth in the smallest of ways.

It’s in the way he coos at the neighbourhood’s cats when he sees them lazing around by the sidewalks, the way he’ll kneel to pet them, long and soft and meticulous, on his way home.

It’s in the things Prompto notices when he accompanies Ignis on his grocery run. It’s in the box of blueberry Poptarts he tries to hide in his basket, stuffed underneath a bag of rice and a large cauliflower, hidden from prying eyes, because the world can’t know Ignis Scientia indulges, every once in a while, that he likes things that are not healthy nor recommended.

It’s in the things that make him laugh, when he knows no one will judge him for it. It's in the snorts he lets out when Prompto sends him ridiculous pictures while sitting right next to him, in the way he struggles to stifle his smile when Prompto texts him in the middle of long council meetings, in the hazy, nonsensical jokes they tell each other as they lie in bed, limbs entangled, on lazy Sunday mornings.

It’s in the way he kisses, or doesn’t, rather. In the way he lets Prompto guide him through it every time, because it’s one of the few things he’s never been able to master before he even needed it (or maybe he bitterly assumed he’d never need it), because it’s not something he could plan or predict or practice on his own.

It’s in the way he had hesitated at first, not because he didn’t want it but because he didn’t know how to convey that he did. It’s in the way he had blushed, barely, when Prompto had stood in front of him, face so close to his he couldn’t have pulled away from it even if he had wanted to. It’s in the way he had shivered when the palms of Prompto’s hands found his cheeks for the first time, the tip of his fingers tangled in the strands of his hair, in the way he had leaned down even though he should’ve known better, slipped an arm around Prompto’s waist, the way he pulled him towards himself without even realizing it. It’s in the way Prompto had lifted himself up on the tip of his toes, had closed the gap between their lips, in the way his skin had heated up, in the way Ignis had fallen into the kiss like it was the last thing he would ever do. It’s in the embarrassed chuckle that had followed once they had pulled apart, once Ignis had come back to (most of) his senses.

It’s in the way he kisses Prompto when he does take the lead. In the way he half-closes his eyes and observes once he’s done, and in the way he laughs softly at the quiet delight on Prompto’s face whenever he does. In the way he doesn’t say much afterwards, in the way he revels in how comfortable he feels when he’s with Prompto.

Ignis might try to act like he is older and wiser than he really is, but what Prompto likes best is to remind him what it’s like to be young and silly and in love. And he’s very good at his job.


	8. A Lullaby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written to showcase my [ impeccable music tastes ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jDVQ09ESjAo%20)  
> Pairing: Cornyx

Cor doesn’t have nightmares anymore. Not frequently enough to be a concern, anyway, not like they used to.

The insomnia, though, is new. And it might be a nice alternative to nightmares, but it doesn’t mean Cor won’t be a little bitter about it. But then again, between no sleep and restless sleep, he’ll pick the former any time.

Still, though, insomnia is the worst, he thinks as he flips endlessly through the same three apps on his phone, hoping, begging for some sort of news to distract him, to no avail.

‘You ok?’ he hears Nyx say in a sleepy voice, squinting at the light from Cor’s phone.

‘Sorry,’ he mutters, ‘didn’t mean to wake you.’

‘s’fine,’ he says, still drowsy. ‘Wasn’t even asleep.’

‘Obviously,’ Cor snorts as he still puts his phone away.

Nyx laughs, eyes still closed, reaching blindly for Cor’s shoulder.

‘C’m’here,’ he says, pulling him with a slack hand.

Cor complies, rolling to his side to rest his head against Nyx’s shoulder, wrapping his arm around his chest as Nyx’s fingers find the nape of his neck, scratching lightly.

Their breathing falls into synch, after a while, and Cor isn’t quite able to sleep yet, but at least he’s comfortable and, well, that’s better than nothing.

‘Hey Cor,’ Nyx asks after a few minutes, a bit more awake than before. A little too awake, in Cor’s opinion, which is usually a bad sign.

‘…Yeah?’

‘I just thought of something.’

‘Go on?’

‘It’s a song. Part of Galahd’s folklore, some might say.’

‘Ok?’

‘It reminds me of you.’

To that Cor says nothing, not sure what to expect. Nyx sometimes sings to him at night, never quite a lullaby, just simple melodies to fill the silence and empty his head. This isn’t unusual per se, but there’s something off about it, this time, almost suspicious.

‘…Go on…’

Nyx takes a moment. He takes a deep breath, lets it out, clears his throat, careful and solemn. Then he dives in.

‘Me, your mama and some other whore

Floatin’ down the river on a shithouse door

Gonna tie my pecker to my leg, to my leg

Tiiie my pecker to my leeeeEEEEEG’

The shrill cry on that last note settles it. Nyx Ulric is the devil.

Cor tries, really tries not to laugh. He won’t give him the satisfaction.

But it’s probably the most horrible, raunchiest song he’s ever heard, and the resolve with which Nyx sings it, deadpan and committed, makes it even worse.

Nyx persists, set on making him crack. He goes on and on, lining up filthy verse after another while Cor clenches his jaw, struggles to breathe through his nose, tries, really, really tries not to let his lips curl up against his will. Because Nyx and his stupid face and his equally stupid, nasty song will not win, he won’t.

He loses it, in the end, when Nyx tips his head up, looks at him straight in the eyes and sings, louder than he should, the words ‘asshole tighter than a STEEL DRUM!’ and Cor bursts out laughing, and curses and buries his face in Nyx’s side, carefully avoiding his triumphant smile and the loud cackle that replaces his awful song at long last.

‘You’re terrible,’ he says once he calms down, voice still muffled by Nyx’s shirt.

‘But you love me,’ Nyx snarks, entirely too proud of himself.

‘I do, unfortunately.’


	9. Goodbyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for [Butterfly_girl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Butterfly_girl/)!  
> Pairing: Promnis

No goodbyes.

That’s the rule.

There’s a finality to goodbyes, like it opens a door, cracks it open, barely, to the suggestion that it could possibly be the last time they get to say it.

If they don’t say goodbye before dangerous hunts and risky rescue missions, then they’ve got to come back, right?

‘That doesn’t make any sense,’ Ignis had told him the first time Prompto had shared this new superstition of his.

He knew then, still knows now. Of course it doesn’t make any sense.

But why risk it?

‘Nothing makes sense, lately,’ he had simply laughed, and Ignis had tried to object but had ultimately not been able to.

No goodbyes, Prompto thinks, as they both get ready for their respective assignment. They don’t really hunt together anymore. Prompto gets too involved, when they do, too worried. Whether is justified or not is another matter entirely.

He knows Ignis can take care of himself, he knows Gladio can protect him, too, if necessary. After working together for so long, far longer than Prompto has even known either of them, they make a deadly team against even deadlier opponents.

So Prompto doesn’t join them anymore, so they can stop worrying about at least one thing. He keeps himself busy by taking on smaller, trickier targets, the kind that need timing and precision rather than pure strength, the kind that he can take on his own without having to worry that this is the day he should’ve said goodbye.

They’ve had a few close calls over the past five years, but they’ve both always made it home in one piece.

They have to, right?

They get dressed like any other morning. They can’t really call it morning anymore, but they pretend so they can keep some sort of sanity. They’ve fallen into a clockwork routine about a year after Ignis had lost his sight, a year after the sun had stopped rising. They needed it then, they will need it as long as Noctis isn’t back.

They get dressed and eat breakfast by the kitchen counter, and Prompto is quiet and Ignis points it out before long.

‘What’s the matter?’ he asks, and Prompto would be annoyed that he noticed if it didn’t also mean that it still mattered to him.

‘Nothing. Just tired. Worried. The usual,’ he says in a voice that’s a touch less cheerful than he had hoped.

Ignis chuckles at that, low and covering something else, something that doesn’t warrant a chuckle.

They’re tired. They’re both tired and worried and constantly on edge, with floating unsaid goodbyes they may regret not saying soon enough. It’s no way to live, but they hardly have a choice, do they?

Ignis takes both their empty bowls and proceeds to wash them before letting them on the rack to dry. He will put them away when he gets home tonight. That’s part of the routine, too.

They grab their gears and head for the door. They stop in the entrance of their apartment, turn to face each other. That’s part of the routine, too.

Ignis’ arms find Prompto’s shoulders, surround them with a strength that increases every day. Prompto wraps his arms around Ignis’ waist, pulling himself so close it makes breathing harder. He stuffs his head against Ignis’ chest as Ignis buries his in the crook of Prompto’s neck.

They take five long breaths.

That’s part of the routine.

They pull apart, then. Prompto grabs Ignis’ neck with calloused hands, and pulls him into a kiss that’s soft and too hard and crushing and sweet. He stops breathing, stop existing for that suspended moment, and Ignis does the same.

They don’t say goodbye, that’s the rule.

There’s never been a rule about kissing each other goodbye.

And so they kiss, and they make it last, and they make it count because it could be their last, and maybe they don’t say goodbye out of superstition but damn it if they’re not going to kiss it out of each other.

They don’t say goodbye.

It’s part of the routine.

‘See you later,’ Prompto whispers as they finally part.

**Author's Note:**

> Come hang out with me on [tumblr](http://roadsoftrial.tumblr.com/) and [ffxv tumblr](https://thelegendarynoctgar.tumblr.com/)!!


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